A seed taking root
by NivalVixen2
Summary: COMPLETE! After the events of the nogitsune, Stiles decides to get a tattoo without letting the others know. Derek finally finds him at the tattoo parlour and decides to stay with him, even after the end. Slow build Sterek
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

**Author's note:** This story has been pre-written and has a total of 7 chapters. It will be updated weekly.

_Read on, oh faithful ones_...

...

It wasn't really in his life plan to get a tattoo, because, y'know - huge freaking phobia of needles over here, thank you very much! - but Stiles kept reading these things about images and words imprinted on a person's skin actually having _power_ in the magic books that Deaton had given him. (There were actual emissary books in the world, who knew?! They would've been helpful a year ago, but whatever. Deaton was still vague and cryptic as all fuck, but the books were helping now. A bit. It was hard to think of anything as _helping_, especially after the nogitsune, but Stiles still couldn't sleep without waking up screaming, so he figured reading these books were better than the alternative.)

So, Stiles ended up in the same tattoo parlour that Scott had gone to, and while the tattooist didn't exactly laugh him out of his shop, he did raise his eyebrow and ask if Stiles would really be okay with this. He nodded firmly, determinedly. He had survived being possessed by an evil firefly and mind-fucked by a evil fox spirit, he would survive this too.

Of course, his determination didn't mean that Stiles' phobia of needles had magically disappeared. He gulped nervously when the needles and tattoo gun were produced, pulled his shirts off, kind of thrust the artwork at the tattoo artist, and threw himself face down onto the chair to hide. Stiles would be much better if he didn't have to **see** the process.

The guy was surprisingly kind, keeping a hand on Stiles' body to steady him, and then he started to draw on his back slowly and carefully. Stiles eventually stopped shivering in fear and let himself just enjoy the feel of the marker on his skin. It was kind of soothing, and distracted him from the thought of a bajillion needles following the same pattern soon after.

Stiles checked the drawing in the large mirror, suggesting a few alterations here and there regarding colour and size of the lines. The tattooist nodded in agreement - no laughter or biting remarks in response - clearing a few lines from his skin with a wipe before redoing the lines and waiting for his confirmation. Stiles looked at the thick black lines working their way down his spine, smaller connecting lines becoming a system of roots along his shoulder blades and back of his ribcage, and down to his lower back. A few even looked like they were curving around his ribs themselves and Stiles had to admit that it looked pretty freaking awesome. He gave a broad grin, nodded firmly, and went back over to the chair.

In hindsight, Stiles probably should have told someone where he was, because they were all still on Stiles watch (it was like neighbourhood watch, but with werewolves, and focused completely on Stiles instead), and the fact that he hadn't been seen by anyone in or outside of the pack all day probably made them all go on high alert. This was confirmed when the tattoo parlour door basically burst open off its hinges, and Stiles looked over his shoulder to see Derek in the doorway, close to wolfing out and a mix of anger and worry exuding from him. (No, seriously, Stiles thought he could actually _see_ the emotion rolling off of him. The tattooist kind of stepped back, muttering something about letting him talk to his boyfriend in private before he bolted from the room at Derek's low growl.)

They have a hushed argument - _what the fuck are you doing, Stiles?! - Don't talk to me like that, you overgrown pup! - No one's seen you all day, and then I follow your scent __**here?!**_ _You hate needles! - Only when I can see them. I'm doing this, Derek! - Let me see what you think is so important to get permanently tattooed on your skin. It's different for humans, don't give me that look! - Oh, you're such a fucking hypocrite. There, happy? I'm not leaving, Derek. Well? What do you think? Don't just stand there and stare at me, you idiot... Derek? - Uh. You... You should get it. It's powerful, isn't it? - Yeah, it is_.

And just like that the argument ends. Stiles called the tattooist back into the room, and while he seemed calmer than when he first burst into the store, Derek didn't seem inclined to leave. Stiles didn't exactly mind his presence there, actually. Derek wasn't forcing him to leave, and he's actually a calm port in the shit-storm that Stiles' life has become at the moment. Stiles was grateful when Derek took his hand a few minutes into the tattoo being applied and leeched his pain away. An hour later, Stiles was still holding Derek's hand even though the pain had dulled to a constant ache and he didn't need to take the pain away.

Another hour passed and the tattoo was finally finished. Stiles was given care instructions to make sure it wouldn't get infected, his back was wrapped in cling wrap and bandaged up, and nope. He was so not thinking about the amount of blood he could see or the needles on the table. Nope-_nope-_**nope**.

Derek helped Stiles out to the car and drove him back to the loft when Stiles said he didn't want to go home yet. His emissary-in-training bag was sitting in the back of his Jeep and Derek carried it upstairs at Stiles' request. He made a salve to help with the power conducive part of the tattoo, and Stiles needed to apply it as soon as possible, or he'd end up with nothing more than a pretty tattoo that may not help his powers at all.

He babbled this all out to Derek who didn't even seem to be listening, but when they get upstairs, Stiles found himself being directed over to Derek's bed. Stiles was kind of emotionally exhausted after getting a tattoo and didn't protest as Derek helped him take his shirt off, followed by the bandages and cling wrap. Derek was calm and _soft_ as he asked how much of the salve he needed to apply, and what Stiles intended to do with the parts of his back he couldn't reach on his own, and well, Stiles didn't have an answer for that. He'd probably try to rub it all over his back with his shirt or something.

Derek rolled his eyes - _and there's the Sourwolf we all know and love!_ - and made Stiles lie down on the bed. He went to the bathroom and returned with a wet cloth, and started to gently clean the drying blood from Stiles' back, before he started applying the salve. Stiles bit back a moan of pain as the salve stung his skin and the mixture combined with the blood seeping out his back. Then the salve started to cling to the tattoo and the pain shifted until it began to feel kind of nice, and then even _better_ than that. It kept building until it felt even better than ice cream, than sex, than the feeling the nogitsune had when it thrust the sword into Scott's stomach. Stiles actually arched off the bed, and stopped _breathing_ because this felt even better than his need for oxygen, and he blacked out completely, slumped onto the mattress. Derek tried not to worry too much - Stiles' body had literally glowed as he arched off the bed - and carefully applied the rest of the salve to his limp body, hoping he'll be all right.

Stiles woke in the morning to find his back completely healed, and the magic inside him kind of thrummed and pulsed, and it feels delicious as it ran through his body, connecting to his veins and arteries like the tree roots on his back. He had actually _successfully_ managed to connect his magic to his body so the next time he has a panic attack, he won't accidentally burst all the windows in the school again (it was one time, but it was enough to get Deaton giving as many books to Stiles as he could, then suggested he work on controlling his emotions; like he **hasn't** been doing that since he his mother died when he was six years' old).

He let out a sigh of relief, shifting and stretching his back and shoulders, and Stiles licked his lips, realising he felt thirsty enough to drink the Beacon Hills river dry. (Although, after they found Matt's dead body in the water? No.) Stiles padded out to the kitchen, drank four glasses of water in a row until he's all _sloshy_, and grinned slightly when he saw Derek curled up on the couch. In the early morning light, Derek's tattoo stood out brilliantly against his skin, and Stiles wanted to touch it, to feel the power beneath it, the meaning behind it. He walked over quietly and did exactly that, his eyes fluttering closed as he felt everything that Derek had ever felt since getting the tattoo burned into his skin. _Guilt, sadness, grief, anger, so much guilt_. Stiles pulled away, his body heaving silently.

_Okay, so that wasn't his smartest idea ever_. Stiles was torn between a hundred different emotions. He wanted to leave, to run, to apologise, to scream, to do anything and everything he can to make Derek realise that it wasn't his fault, but he doesn't know how to do that. Instead, Stiles simply nudged Derek over and curled up around him on the couch. He gingerly pressed his hand against Derek's triskelion again, and instead of taking emotion, he pushes it in instead. He watched Derek's shoulders lose a bit of their tension, and Stiles relaxed slowly as well, eventually letting his hand slip away before he turned over to get comfortable. Their tattoos touched and he shuddered as the feelings intensified, but in a really _seriously_ good way. Stiles hugged his arms to his chest and let himself fall asleep, even as he tried to keep thinking of positive things for Derek's sake.

Stiles didn't expect things to change overnight, but he hoped it would like a seed growing and spreading out roots inside Derek until he emotionally healed.

...

End of first chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

...

Stiles' tree tattoo is fully healed in the morning, and he wakes to find himself curled up around Derek, his chest pressed up against Derek's back, despite the fact they went to sleep back-to-back the night before. Derek's still asleep and breathing peacefully, and Stiles is loathe to wake him. He carefully wriggles his arm out of the hold Derek has on it and flees to the bathroom, barely making it in time to relieve the urge in his bladder. He sighs, head resting against the tiles, running his tongue along his teeth as he waits for the stream to stop. Stiles finally finishes peeing (seriously, he's going to time himself one day, 'cause that's got to break a world record or something), flushes, and turns to wash his hands. He checks his teeth in the mirror as he lathers up with soap, using a frothy hand to turn on the tap. Then he stops short, staring at his arm and his heart races because he _sure as fuck_ didn't have that tattoo on his forearm yesterday.

Stiles turns around abruptly, trying to see if his actual tattoo is still there, and he sighs in relief because it's there. It's darker than it was before, but there's no blood thankfully, and Stiles flexes his shoulder blades, grinning as the branches move with the motion. Then he follows the uppermost branches as they weave and wind their way over his shoulder and down to his arm. There's a gap, like they're still growing or something, and then down his right forearm are another mess of branches and leaves. He frowns, prodding at the tattoo with a wet finger, his jaw dropping as the branches move. Like, honest to fucking god, sways like there's a goddamn breeze on his skin or something.

"Stiles, you okay? Your heartbeat's going a mile a minute," Derek mutters, knocking on the door.

"Yeah... No... I don't know. D'you have any books on tattoos? Magical ones?" Stiles asks, loosely drying off his hands on a towel before he opens the bathroom door, twisting his arm in the morning light to get a better look at it.

"Not here; in the vault, maybe," Derek replies, blinking at Stiles' tattoo in surprise.

"Okay. Breakfast first," he replies, wiping his damp hands on his pants.

"You're not worried about that? It?"

"I'd be less worried with a full stomach," Stiles points out, smirking a little, then he frowns and grabs Derek, turning him around. "Holy fuck. I'm so sorry, dude. I had no idea. Shit."

"What?" Derek asks, trying to look over his shoulder unsuccessfully.

Stiles winces and guides him into the bathroom. "I uh, kinda tried to do some healing magic thing last night, and ... well, it must've transferred to you or something, 'cause... Just take a look, okay? And don't kill me," Stiles adds quickly, stepping back, hands raised.

Derek turns, his back facing the mirror, and moves so he can see what the hell Stiles is talking about. His eyebrows raise in surprise. The top spiral of his triskelion has spread out into what looks like hundreds of smaller spirals, reaching over his shoulders. His triskelion has multiplied itself over and over, and Derek doesn't really know how to respond to that. Stiles still looks like he's afraid Derek will tear his throat out with his teeth.

"Guess we'd better get to the vault sooner rather than later," Derek says with a small sigh.

"Breakfast burrito it is," Stiles says, giving him a quick grin as he runs off to get his shirt.

By the time they make it to the vault (Stiles ate two burritos because getting a tattoo and then healing it overnight is tiring - _stop looking at me like that, Derek!_), Stiles' tattoo has actually started branching off, completing the circuit up his arm, over his shoulder, and to the large tree on the back; his left arm is starting to show as well, a few branches darkening along his veins and pale skin. Derek has to concentrate so he won't stare at Stiles' forearms instead of the road, and almost skids off the road when Stiles grabs his shirt and tugs it aside to check the triskelions.

"Looks like they're slowing down. They don't look too bad, honestly. I'm gonna look like some weird tree fetishist or something," Stiles laments.

"I don't think a tree fetishist is a thing. And if it is, I don't want to know about it," Derek adds quickly when Stiles opens his mouth. "But they don't look bad," he adds, a bit softer.

"Thanks. I think it's got something to do with my power. Hopefully not the Nemeton," Stiles mutters, running a finger down one of the dark branches.

"Let's hope not," Derek agrees, pulling into the school and turning off the ignition.

Stiles kind of falls out of the car with all of his usual grace, and Derek shakes his head as he follows him down to the vault's entrance. The book isn't hard to find, especially when Stiles' arm actually starts to fucking glow when he's near it, and they spend a few hours reading through it to get a better understanding of what's happening to both of them. Stiles was right about his power; it's physically manifesting and will provide protection, and they're both thankful that it's nothing to do with the Nemeton. Derek enquires about his own tattoo, and Stiles reddens slightly as he mumbles something under his breath that not even Derek's werewolf hearing catches.

"What did you say, Stiles?" Derek asks with a frown. "Stiles? What did you do."

"Like I said, a healing spell. I... I touched your tattoo, and I felt it."

Derek feels a cold wave flow over him. "Felt what?" he asks hollowly.

"Your emotions. What you felt when you got the tattoo, what you're still feeling, I don't know, but ... dude, it wasn't your fault. You know that, right?"

"Get out."

"What? No, I was... I was trying to do something good, to help you! You can't tell me that you don't feel better! You've smiled today, Derek, and I haven't seen you smile in ... fuck, I don't even know how long. I just, I wanted you to feel something other than all of that guilt. I honestly didn't know it'd do that to your triskelion," Stiles babbles.

"Stiles. Shut up. Just _shut up_," Derek snarls and he hates to admit it, but he does feel ... well, not _better_, the guilt's still there - but he feels lighter, like maybe it's not all his fault, and maybe he doesn't have to carry all of this guilt for the rest of his life.

"I... yeah. Sorry, I'll just go. Uh, I'll call someone to pick me up, and yeah, you don't have to worry about seeing me anymore. I'll leave you alone," Stiles murmurs, and he sounds so forlorn and remorseful that Derek can't help but catch his wrist before he leaves.

He touches Stiles' tattoo when he grabs him, and Derek gasps as Stiles' emotions overwhelms him - _remorse, anger, regret, fear, fear, fear (to disappoint, to revert back, to become the nogitsune again, to lose control, to lose his friends, his family, his pack, Derek), love_... He lets go abruptly, clenches his jaw and just tries to breathe.

"Derek? Are you okay? Fuck, what happened?"

"We're even now," Derek replies, exhaling slowly.

Stiles frowns, blinking. "What?"

"You felt my feelings, I felt yours. So we're even. Now, help me find a way to get my tattoo back to normal," Derek mutters, turning back to the book.

Stiles gnaws his lip anxiously, obviously still concerned that Derek's going to seek retribution, but moves beside Derek a moment later, eyes scanning the page. He touches Derek's back gently, hand resting between his shoulder blades as he pats him in what he hopes is a comforting gesture. Stiles notices that the tattoo on his left forearm starts growing faster at the contact and pulls away quickly. That's something that can be dealt with another day.

...

End of second chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I don't own Teen Wolf.

...

Stiles says that he doesn't mean to keep touching Derek, that he's just trying to gauge how fast his tattoo grows. Derek doesn't believe him because Stiles keeps touching him, no matter how many times he growls at him. By the end of the first day, the tattoo on Stiles' back is completely black, leaves have started budding on most of the branches, and Derek has resigned himself to the fact that Stiles isn't going to stop placing a hand on him at random times. He generally keeps his hand between Derek's shoulder blades, watching with wide eyes as the tattoo on his left arm continues to grow, branches spreading across his arm and down to his hand. His right arm is growing too, the branches winding their way across his skin carefully. Stiles wonders if they'd grow right out of his arm itself. He shudders at the thought and pulls his hand back.

"How's yours going? Getting any better?" Stiles asks, not waiting for a response before he tugs at Derek's shirt to take a look for himself.

"Well?" Derek queries.

"Uh. Let's not focus on that right now. Obviously, it's doing something 'cause mine's doing something. Maybe it'll stop when mine's stopped?" Stiles offers, trying to smile hopefully.

"It's getting worse, isn't it?" Derek asks, sighing heavily as he rubs the bridge of his nose.

"Little bit," Stiles admits with a wince.

Derek pulls his shirt off and heads to the bathroom, Stiles following him at a safe distance. The spirals have continued over his shoulders, down the back of his arms, and it almost looks like an armour of triskelions has been placed over his skin. They've read every book the Hale vault had to offer without getting the answers they need (though Stiles claims that he's got answers to things he hasn't asked yet), and Stiles has started re-reading his emissary books to try and help.

Two days pass and their tattoos continue to change. Derek's kind of glad that they don't hurt like needles or flames and they're just appearing like this; he might be a werewolf, but the constant ache and pain of that would be more than he'd like to handle. Besides, he wouldn't want Stiles to go through that sort of pain either, especially not so soon after actually getting his tattoo.

"Derek! Found something! I think. Here, read this," Stiles says, thrusting the book towards him.

Derek reads the passage Stiles is pointing out, and frowns. "This has nothing to do with our tattoos, Stiles."

Stiles flushes red, his cheeks and neck turning pink. "Well, yeah. I couldn't find anything about it, and I got bored so I read this instead."

Derek sighs. He's never going to get his normal triskelion back at this rate. "Fine, then. Show it to me."

Stiles brightens up. "Y'mean it?"

"Hurry up before I change my mind," Derek replies, though it's not as fierce as he might have been once.

Stiles nods, pushes up his sleeves, closes his eyes, and murmurs the spell under his breath. Derek hears the words themselves, but they don't make any sense to him. He wants to question Stiles about what he's actually saying, but then Stiles opens his eyes again and they're glowing white, and the budding leaves on his left arm start to move. They unfurl, greening and then turning a shade of orange a second later. Then Stiles concentrates, staring at his arm like he doesn't even know his eyes are fucking glowing, and the orange-red leaves slide off his skin, floating into the air itself.

"_Holy fuck_, this is _awesome_," Stiles breathes, an incredulous look on his face as he laughs a bit. "You seeing this, Sourwolf?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I am," Derek murmurs, reaching a hand out to grasp the leaves.

They crunch in his hands, break apart on his skin like they're real leaves, like it's the middle of Autumn and he's walking through the preserve with fallen leaves underfoot. It's faint, but he can actually smell the scent of trees and life (though it's tainted with decay as the leaves are in the process of dying), and Derek lets the leaves fall from his hand as he looks back to Stiles. Stiles is staring at leaves, trying to control the wind that's blowing them off his arm, and grins when he manages to group them together before his face. It's small, but it kind of looks like Captain America's shield, and he's all right with that.

"Hold it there, Stiles. Don't move them," Derek says suddenly.

"What?" Stiles falters, but Derek repeats his words, and he looks back to the small shield, holding them together the best he can.

Derek pulls his arm back, makes a fist, and punches directly at the leaves. Stiles stumbles back a bit, but the leaves don't break apart. They shudder with the impact, but they don't fucking move, and Stiles lets out a cry of joy when he realises it.

"Looks like you're not so defenceless anymore, Stiles," Derek says with a grin, shaking off his healing hand.

"You know what this means? I can fight - I can - " Stiles excitement fades to a slur and he sways on his feet, the white glow leaving his eyes abruptly, and the leaves disappearing right before he faints.

Derek swears, bolting forward to catch Stiles before he hits the ground. The smell of Stiles' magic-sulphur scent is strong now that he's closer, and it washes away any scent of the leaves that had remained.

Derek picks Stiles up carefully, looking at the young man in his arms for a moment. He hasn't had a nightmare for the past two nights, and the black bags under his eyes aren't quite as dark. Derek wonders if it's some part of Stiles' magic trying to heal him, or if it's his own presence at night that helps calm him. He'd like to hope that it's both.

With a soft sigh, he carries Stiles to his bedroom and places him on top of the bed. When Derek leaves the bedroom, he notices a smudge of black on his hand and tries to wipe it off unsuccessfully. Frowning, he pulls his Henley sleeve back to find that his arms are now covered in the small triskelion tattoos. He doesn't mind them anymore, really. They honestly do feel like a set of armour, and while he's all for any protection he can get, Derek now wonders just what he'll need the armour for.

...

End of third chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

...

There's a warlock in town. Deaton hasn't actually admitted that he's worried yet, but he's given Stiles even more emissary books, and these ones are all focused on defensive spells rather than the generic ones he had before. It's enough for Stiles to recognise that Deaton is worried as all fuck, and he practices the spells with a determination that has him trailing the scent of sulphur around Derek's loft more often than not.

Derek's been extremely protective ever since Deaton announced the warlock was in town, and rarely lets Stiles out of his sight, except for school (and even then, Stiles is like 99.9% sure that Derek's lurking in the trees again, the creeper). Derek picks him up after school and takes him back to the loft every afternoon, some sort of deal made with the Sheriff about Stiles' safety (he swears they talked about something else too, because Derek seems to get a bit red around the ears when he mentions it), and while Stiles grumbles about it a lot, he doesn't truly mind. The others in the pack are all able to defend themselves, even Lydia now that she's got Parrish around, and Stiles is still trying to control his power so he's not as defenceless as he'd like.

Derek takes the guarding business really seriously, even going so far as to mask Stiles' sulphur scent before they go out patrolling at night with the rest of the pack. Stiles doesn't really think that the warlock is going to recognise his _scent_, but he's not adverse to having Derek pressed up against him, so he's sure as fuck not going to say anything. Scott gives them odd looks now and then, but Stiles just grabs his baseball bat in one hand, Derek's hand in the other, and tugs him over to the preserve to avoid any more awkward looks.

They still train together, Stiles working on creating more leaves, this time on the larger tree on his back. They come out a really light red colour (fine, it's _pink_, whatever), but they're just as strong as the orange-red ones on his arms, and Stiles can make them grow in stages, using as many or as few as he needs at a time. He doesn't even have to concentrate on it anymore, Derek jumping in front of him with a roar, and a flurry of leaves block his attack in under a second. Stiles thinks that's all he can do, until he freaks out at one of Derek's surprise attacks (he was _sleeping_, that's so not fair) and the leaves fly at Derek, slicing his skin like hundreds of tiny blades. Derek looks just as surprised as Stiles feels, and they both watch as the wounds all start to close a few seconds later. Stiles mutters something under his breath and promptly goes back to sleep.

The pink leaves are sharper than the red ones, and Stiles realises that the pink ones are more for offensive attacks while the red are for defensive. _Now __**that**__, he can work with_. Derek just smirks at him and their training intensifies to the point where Stiles just stops wearing a damn shirt the minute he's in the loft because the leaves need to get out and it's hard when there's three layers of clothing. Derek shakes his head at him and makes him wear a singlet at least - any enemy they face won't wait for Stiles to take his shirt off before they attack - and while he's reluctant to agree, he knows that Derek's right.

They're out patrolling one night, Stiles staying close to Derek because he's in a singlet and it's fucking _cold_, when Derek stops suddenly, Stiles stumbling a few feet forward. He wants to bitch at Derek for that, but the words die on his lips when he sees that Derek's shifted.

"What is it?" Stiles asks, voice soft as he tries to look out in to the darkness.

"I smell something off. Like sulphur, but worse, like it's _rotting_," Derek murmurs, pulling Stiles close to guard him.

Stiles touches a hand to Derek's triskelion, keeping his hand between his shoulder blades and hopes it's a calming act, just like it has been in the past month or so. His mind is still focused on the possibility of the warlock attacking them right now, his eyes glowing white, and he's already preparing the red leaves when he feels Derek's triskelion _shift_ under his hand.

Derek feels something happening under his shirt and he wants to know what the hell's going on, but that rotten scent is still out there, and he can't let his guard down yet. Not until Stiles is safe. He lets out a growl, even as there's more shifting happening under his clothes and his skin itches like he has to transform. It's a sensation, a pull that not even the moon has on him, and Derek finally gives in, shifting to a wolf, wriggling out of his clothes and stalking forward, a growl filtering out between his fangs and glowing armour protecting his back and head. He knows it's a product of Stiles' power and doesn't think to question it, not when the _rotting-sulphur_ scent is still there, still too close for comfort. Derek snarls in the direction of the threat and tenses his body, ready and poised for attack.

Slowly, the scent starts to leave. It's hesitant, as if still trying to determine whether the risk is worth attacking them, but Derek roars and then the scent's gone completely. He waits, growls at Stiles when he tries to move forward, ears pricked up through the helmet as he listens for any movement. He doesn't want to be taken by a surprise attack when he's shifting back, so he waits for Scott and the others to return and guard Stiles before he changes back to his human form, gathering his clothes with trembling hands.

Derek ignores Scott and Liam's questions, his mind already going over them without any clear answers, and heads into the trees to get changed. The armour had felt natural, like it was an extension of his own body, not intrusive or even heavy. He felt like he'd been armed for war, ready to protect Stiles' life at the cost of his own. Derek looks at the henley in his hands, then to the small triskelions that cover his body. They've stopped multiplying now, and he's covered from his shoulders to his toes in thousands of triskelions, an armour protecting his body, and Derek realises that it's Stiles' way of protecting him. Stiles might not even realise that he's done it, but the armour he felt on his body even before he shifted to a wolf was enough to protect Derek from another wolf's claws. It felt strong even though it was light on his body, and Derek has to take a minute to breathe, because no one's ever protected him before. He's always been the protector, the person that others look to for safety and guarding, and Derek's never thought he needed protecting, but ... maybe he does. He decides not to put the henley on just yet, and heads back out to the others, the cool breeze welcome on his bare chest.

"Are you all right?" Stiles asks the minute he's in view, rushing over to check him over. "There was something happening under your shirt, and I don't... I don't know what really happened," he admits, staring at the triskelions on Derek's torso with wide eyes.

"I'm fine, Stiles. You gave me armour, to protect me while I'm protecting you," Derek murmurs, and he goes a bit pink because he didn't mean for it to sound quite so intimate.

"I don't know how I did that though. I was just getting the reds ready," Stiles said, looking to his red-leaved forearms.

"We'll work on it," Derek promises, pulling Stiles in close when he sees the goosebumps on his skin.

Stiles sighs against his chest, winding his arms around to hug Derek properly. "Scared me, sourwolf."

"Sorry."

"No, not you. _Me_. I scared myself, I didn't know what I'd done to you. _Again_. Geez, we wouldn't be in this mess if I hadn't gotten this tattoo and tried that healing spell, huh?"

"You mean we'd be out here unprepared and unprotected," Derek points out, rolling his eyes. "You seriously think we'd be alive right now if it weren't for your magic and armour? That warlock is powerful, Stiles, and you made them back off. They weren't expecting you to have that much power," he adds, and knows that it's true.

"Seriously? Y'mean it?" Stiles asks, surprised.

"Yeah, I do. But that means they'll be more prepared next time."

"Great, more training," Stiles mutters sarcastically.

"Not apologising for that, Stiles."

"Yeah, I know. C'mon, let's get out of here. I'm freezing my ass off. Scott, we'll meet you all at the loft for a report, 'kay?" Stiles says, glancing over his shoulder to where Scott gives him a thumbs up and they all start heading off.

Derek keeps an arm wrapped around Stiles as he leads them back to the Jeep, and listens for any sign of the warlock. They make it back without incident, and Derek drives them back to the loft when Stiles is shivering too much to get the key in the ignition.

"Hey, don't faint on me, okay?" Derek says, frowning when Stiles is still shivering even after they've been in the warm car and he's wearing his shirts and Derek's jacket.

"Not gonna faint," Stiles mutters, but he doesn't protest when Derek physically lifts him out of the car and carries him inside.

He's unconscious by the time they get upstairs. Derek sets Stiles down on his bed, taking his shoes off before tucking the blanket around his cold shoulders. He's aware of the others still waiting in his lounge room, needing to know what happened so they can work out the best plan of attack or defence. Derek leaves his room, promising himself that no matter what, Stiles will survive.

...

End of fourth chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

...

Stiles doesn't wake up or immediately rush downstairs when Derek calls him for breakfast the next morning. The only reason Derek doesn't immediately freak out is because he can still hear Stiles' heartbeat going strong, can hear him breathing evenly. He calls out for Stiles again, heading up to his bedroom and hopes that he'll wake so they can eat breakfast together. _Breakfast that won't be cold_, he thinks to himself.

Derek stops outside of the bedroom door, frowning as he concentrates on Stiles' heartbeat and breathing again. It's too even a beat, too calm a breath, especially considering it's Stiles, who's never even and calm on the best of days, and Derek's heart is the one that's beating erratically as he opens the bedroom door a second later. The scent of _rotting sulphur_ hits him in a sickening wave, and he stifles a need to be sick as he runs over to Stiles quickly instead.

He knows that Stiles is still alive because of his breath and heartbeat, but Derek can tell that something else is wrong. It's more than the fact he hasn't woken up, or is so calm, and Derek takes a moment to look Stiles over, trying to determine what's wrong. The _rotting-sulphur_ smell is nauseating, but he doesn't let himself leave or panic, not yet. As his eyes rove over Stiles' arms he notices that something is happening on Stiles' arm. The tree roots that he has tattooed on his skin, the red leaves for defence, they're _gone_. Instead, small birds are flying up his arm, as if attacking each of the branches, and Derek feels sick at the sight. He's read enough of the magical tattoo books from his family's vault over the past few months to recognise a magical attack.

The warlock must have decided they were too big of a threat physically and in person, and has decided to attack Stiles inside his head instead. It's similar to the Nemeton and to the nogistune, but there's no way to come out of this if he doesn't win his fight against the warlock. There's no way to survive a magical mental attack without killing his opponent, and Derek has no idea if Stiles is strong enough to win on his own. He wants to believe that Stiles is strong enough, but he still remembers the phantom presence of the warlock from last night, his own goosebumped response to the power he could feel, and he refuses to leave Stiles alone in a fight against _that_.

Pushing away the fresh wave of nausea as more birds appear, Derek runs out to get his phone and call Scott. Scott sounds sleepy when he answers, but Derek doesn't let him get far into his tirade about being woken up early; Stiles is more important than the time of day.

"When you went into Stiles' head to go after the nogitsune, what exactly did you have to do?" Derek asks.

"Uh, ice cold water and a bunch of herbs from Deaton. What's wrong?" Scott asks, but Derek's already ending the call and dialling Deaton's number.

"The warlock's attacking Stiles in his mind, and he's not waking up. I need to get in there, I need to help him," Derek says the moment Deaton's picked up.

To his credit, Deaton only makes a small noise of surprise, like he'd hoped for a different outcome. "Run a cold bath, and carry Stiles into the bathroom. Try not to touch his skin, or the warlock will drain your power. I'll be right there."

Derek drops the phone onto the bed and heads to the bathroom. The faucet's going too damn slow, so he heads down to his laundry with two empty buckets and a large tub, filling all three to help the process along. He remembers Scott's mention about ice, and forces himself to leave Stiles for a few minutes, heading downstairs to the cellar where the large freezer still has bags of ice from the party they'd held in his loft a few months ago. By the time he's back upstairs, the bath is almost halfway full, and after he tips in the bags of ice, the tub's three-quarters full.

Derek turns the faucet off, then goes to his room to put on his thumb-hole sweater so he can carry Stiles without touching his skin. It's awkward as all fuck, but he manages to do it, and he's barely put Stiles down on the tiles when he hears the elevator buzzer going off. He jogs out to the front to let Deaton in, and the older man nods to him sombrely as he heads straight past Derek to the bathroom.

"How long has he been like this?" Deaton asks, indicating to the birds on Stiles' forearm.

"I don't know. He didn't wake up this morning for breakfast, and I saw those when I came to check on him."

"Then let's get you in there sooner rather than later," Deaton says, and it's worrying to see the amount of concern visible on the druid's face.

Derek pulls his sweater off and gets in the water. It's freezing but he doesn't complain, can't bring himself to bitch about it when Stiles looks so vulnerable and his arms are filling with more birds than trees. He slides down into the cold water, barely listening as Deaton sprinkles herbs and powders into the water, pulling gloves on to move Stiles beside the bathtub and give his hand to Derek.

"The herbs will stop the warlock from draining your power now. It's safe," Deaton adds when Derek looks wary.

He nods briefly and takes Stiles' hand. It's cool in his own, and he's tempted to rub his hand between his own hands to warm Stiles up. Deaton doesn't give him the chance.

"Go under the water and stay under until you're unconscious. You'll wake up and be in Stiles' mind; just be careful inside of there. I'm not sure who has control over the landscape right now," Deaton murmurs, looking at Stiles' bird-covered arm.

Derek starts to sink under the water, closing his eyes.

"One last thing, Derek. Tell Stiles to believe in - "

Derek's ears fill with water before he can hear the last of Deaton's message (_seriously, he had to tell him something important when he was already going under water?! Stiles is right; Deaton really can be a cryptic asshole sometimes_), and now he can't come back up or risk ruining whatever spell Deaton's got going. Instead, he blinks his eyes open and blows air out of his lungs, willing himself to go unconscious faster. His wolf isn't happy about being submerged in water, but is even angrier about the warlock attacking _their_ Stiles. They'll get Stiles back and teach that warlock a lesson for daring to harm what's theirs.

Black shadows creep into the edge of his vision, and though Derek wants to fight it, wants to breathe and live and get out of this freezing cold water, he's reminded all too forcefully of another time he was sinking and drowning in water like this. Stiles had saved him then, putting himself at risk, and they'd both almost died as a result of Stiles' selflessness. Derek can do this, he can save Stiles, he can and he will. Derek lets the black edges swallow up his vision entirely, his eyes drifting shut as his world goes dark.

...

End of fifth chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

...

Stiles realises that something's wrong when he sees that he's in the preserve. If he dreams about the preserve, he always starts his dream right next to the Nemeton, and in this dream, he can't even feel the Nemeton's presence like he usually does. It's kind of weird, really.

He hears a loud cawing sound, and looks up into the trees to see them filled with crows, their black beaks pecking the leaves off the trees. Stiles pales as he realises just what's happening, and looks to his arms. The trees on his arms are bare, and he can barely get the leaves to form no matter how hard he tries.

There's a low laugh, one that seems to echo and send a chill right through him, and Stiles turns on the spot, trying to find the source. The laughter increases, and he rips off his shirt so the pink leaves show. Those leaves are still fine for the moment. He looks up into the trees, the birds still pecking away at his beautiful trees, and Stiles mutters under his breath, a spell that usually has his reds up and ready. The trees sway violently in response, the birds cawing loudly and flying away.

It's sure as hell a crash course in learning how to use his magic in a dream, but it's better than nothing, and Stiles concentrates again. The entire forest seems to shake around him, the trees swinging about wildly until every single bird is up in the air. They darken the sky itself, their flapping wings creating a sound that's not entirely foreign to him. It's similar to the time with Ms. Blake and the billions of birds that went kamikaze on the school, except this time, they're just waiting. It's unnerving as all fuck, and Stiles wishes he had some way to scatter them, but he only has his trees.

There's movement to the side, the trees wilting slightly, and Stiles spins on his heel to face this new threat. The man doesn't look familiar, but he's wearing a coat with crow feathers trailing down the material, so Stiles doesn't have to guess who he is in all of this. Still, a name would be nice, so he knows exactly who's ass he has to kick when he's awake again.

"Who're you?" Stiles demands, the trees straightening up again (if they lean towards the guy in an imposing matter, well that's neither here nor there).

The man smiles, and it's an even creepier smile than Tim Curry's one in _Home Alone 2_ that gave Stiles nightmares for weeks when he was a kid. He barely refrains from shuddering, but the man doesn't seem to notice, and finally answers.

"You'll not get my name from me that easily, boy. All you need to know is that I'm stronger than you, and I'll have your power as my own before the sun rises in the morn."

"_In the morn?_ Just how old are you?" Stiles asks with a snort.

The man doesn't look impressed, and a few of the crows dove down to attack Stiles. He swears under his breath, the trees converging above him to make an impromptu cover. There are a few painful caws from that, and Stiles grins to himself because _fuck you and your creepy ass birds, old guy_.

Before he can say that, or something along those lines, Stiles hears a howl. He recognises the howl straight away, and right then, Derek's howl is the best sound in the world. The howl filters off to a low growl, one that promises volumes of pain for the warlock across from him, and Stiles wants to laugh in the old guy's face. The man doesn't look as worried as Stiles would like him to be, and he raises his arm high.

Above them, the crows all fly out of the trees and into the air, circling into a tornado of noise and feathers. Stiles feels a spike of fear rush through him, suddenly knows that those crows are all intended for Derek, and it will be _brutal_. He can't let that happen, can't let Derek get hurt, not here, not over _him_. Stiles' jaw clenches, his fists curled tight by his sides, and as the warlock lowers his arm in a sharp motion, Stiles lets out a scream of anger and protectiveness, the trees growing in size at an exponential rate. In under a second, the trees are almost double in size, and they capture the swirling tornado of crows between branches and leaves, the red leaves blocking them and the pink cutting into them sharply.

Over the cacophony of noise and squawks from the crows above, Derek arrives in the small clearing. He's in his wolf form, eyes blue, and on seeing the warlock across from Stiles, a growl filters out that's even louder than the noise above them. Stiles touches Derek's back gently, tries not to grin too broadly when he sees the triskelion armour appearing, but he doesn't hold his grin back when he sees the warlock visibly flinch. Derek shakes his body slightly, like he's trying to get the armour comfortable, and before Stiles can say or do anything, he leaps straight for the warlock.

It starts raining - which is kind of weird, considering there aren't even any clouds above them - but then Stiles gets hit by a supposed raindrop, and he lets out a hiss of pain. Too late, he realises that it's not rain, but rather small pieces of his tree branches and leaves that are being destroyed by the crows. He lets Derek and the warlock fight for a moment, focusing his attention to the trees, trying to imagine their branches thick and too tough for a beak to rip apart. The rain slowly stops, and Stiles desperately attempts to think of something that will stop the warlock and his crows at the same time.

Derek yowls in pain, drawing Stiles' attention immediately, and he throws a hand towards them, red leaves hurtling out of the trees to block Derek from the warlock and protect him long enough to heal from whatever the warlock did. While the warlock's distracted by the shield, Stiles gathers as many of the pink leaves as possible, sending them down as straight and sharp as a knife. The warlock sees them coming, crows flying directly into the leaves' path and there are barely enough leaves left to continue the attack, so Stiles throws his arm to the side and makes the leaves return to the trees and regroup.

As soon as Derek snarls, the red leaves break their formation immediately and he lunges through the harmless leaves directly onto the warlock, snapping his jaws at the older man's throat. Crows swirls down from the trees, trying to attack Derek from above, but the armour holds strong, and their beaks can't penetrate the metal to do any lasting damage. Still, that doesn't mean that they're not an annoyance, and Derek's legs are unfortunately free of armour, and suffer the brunt of the crows' attack.

Stiles swears under his breath, even though the crows don't seem too interested in him since the warlock's being attacked by Derek. Thinking of an idea, Stiles slinks over to the closest tree, keeping an eye on the crows and warlock. There's no response from either, and he touches his palm to the tree trunk carefully. The tree shudders slightly, a few leaves falling, but when Stiles looks up, he can see that his idea is starting to take form. The tree branches are changing, forming cages around the crows in the boughs, closing in on the small creatures until they're encased so tightly that they can't even cry out, let alone peck at their wooden cages.

Now that the idea has taken hold and Stiles knows what to do, his eyes glows white as he makes all of the trees create cages to lock the crows in. Across from him, Derek's still snarling and snapping at the warlock, and finally has his jaws clenched around the warlock's arm. _He's weakening without his main defence_, Stiles realises with a short thrill of elation. _They're going to beat this warlock and win!_

Suddenly, the warlock's whimpers of pain change from agony to amusement, low and fucking evil laughter echoing in the small clearing, and Stiles winces. He immediately wants to retract his previous statement because anyone that laughs like that when they have a werewolf chewing their goddamn arm off obviously knows something that the rest of them don't. Even Derek backs up, mouth dripping and stained with blood, but he's still snarling angrily. He stops snarling a few seconds later, ears pricked and entire body alert as he looks into the trees. Stiles can hear his own heart pounding in his chest, and then he sees a set of eyes in his forest, yellow and menacing. There's a roar, just like the one in _The Lion King,_ Stiles thinks dazedly. Then he feels one of the tree trunks being torn apart by claws, his own arm mimicking the blood and pain, and as Stiles lets out a sound of pain, an honest to God _lion_ leaps out of the trees. Derek growls softly, backing up towards Stiles slowly, body graceful and every bit the hunter, despite the sudden appearance of the lion and the fact that the warlock's eyes are now glowing white. Derek reaches Stiles, body pressed against his wounded arm, and Stiles breathes out shakily, keeping his gaze away from his shredded arm. Derek takes some of the pain, but it's difficult not only in his wolf form, but also in a dream, and Stiles shakes his head at him gently.

"Don't worry about me, Der. We've got bigger problems to focus on," he murmurs, looking to the snarling lion crouched protectively in front of the warlock.

"You think I'm naïve enough to only have one line of defence, boy?" the warlock sneers, sounding assured even though his arm is kind of dangling by a thread of skin. "You're not the first I've fought, and when this is over, I'll have your forest for my own," he adds, face twisted and grotesque.

Stiles wants to mock the geriatric asshole, but for once, he can't really think of anything to say. Derek, apparently, thinks that growling at the guy with a _fucking lion_ is a good idea, and the werewolf and lion lunge at each other, roaring and snarling with their claws out. Stiles glances up to ensure the trees are still holding the crows all right, and the crows have seemingly gone docile while in their cages. He doesn't know if he has control over them now that the warlock's got the lion out, but he'd rather not risk using them and finding out he was wrong. Derek's still fighting the lion, and Stiles watches the warlock, hoping for a clue or a slip up, something he can use to help win this fight. The warlock doesn't even seem to consider him that great of a threat, watching with beady bloodthirsty eyes as Derek and the lion tear at each other. Stiles is kind of proud of the way the armour's holding up on Derek, and it doesn't even look like the lion will get through. But his underside's still bare, and it's left him vulnerable. He'll have to fix that as soon as they're awake again.

The warlock stands after a few minutes, and Stiles blinks in confusion when he sees that his arm is healed and no longer hanging on by a thread. If the warlock can heal himself, does that mean that this entire thing is really just a dreamscape, and he has more control over it than he initially realised? Stiles thought he'd only have control over the trees since they were his tattoos, but perhaps it's more than that. He tests it out subtly, focusing his attention on a small patch of grass in front of him and willing, _believing_, it to turn purple. Stiles almost cries out in a mix of surprise and victory when a circle of grass really does turn a purple colour, and then he laughs out loud because this? This is something he can _totally_ deal with. He heals his arm because that motherfucker was hurting, and breathes out a soft sigh of relief when the blood clears away and the pain fades.

He has complete and utter control over himself and his dream, so long as he believes and has enough imagination, and for Stiles, that's _never_ been a problem.

As soon as he's had the realisation, Stiles sends the grass up out of the ground, caging it around the lion and has a tree grow extra branches at a fast pace, wrapping them around the warlock and holding him tight enough to break something important like his ribs, or his spine or maybe even his hip. The warlock obviously wasn't expecting an attack, because his eyes are wide and bugging out of his head, and he's staring at Stiles like he didn't believe he had it in him.

"Don't look at me like that, you old bastard, you brought this on yourself. Get the lion to back off - as well as any other pets you might have in _my forest_," Stiles adds firmly, the branches wrapping around the warlock's torso tighter.

He gasps and nods, and the lion disappears immediately. Stiles can't explain how, but he _feels_ that a few dozen eyes disappear from the trees. The crows are still above them, caged and silent in his trees, and Stiles thinks that maybe he does have control over them after all. In front of him, Derek doesn't look quite as tense anymore, but snaps his jaws at the warlock just to make the old man flinch back. This time, Stiles does laugh, and he grins down at Derek.

"Hey, Der? Sic 'im," Stiles says.

Derek does some kind of wolfy eye-roll because '_a dog joke, seriously, Stiles?_', he leaps forward and bites the warlock's arm off anyway. Stiles reckons it's worth the wave of nausea and the shit he'll get later for the joke.

As a test, Stiles lets one of the crows out of their crowded cages, tries to make it fly in the direction he wants. It seems to struggle against his command, the warlock screaming desperately across from him, but Stiles puts more effort into it, eyes straining and head aching. It's painful, but it works, and the crow lands on the warlock's stomach, pecking at the soft skin as the old man screams about betrayal beneath the feathered creature. Stiles grins, even though he feels a bit woozy from all the strain - he hasn't practiced enough, it seems (_won't Derek be pleased to find that out?_ he thinks with an internal grimace at the very idea of even _more_ training) - and he sends the crow back up into the trees cages before he can lose his hold on it. Derek lets out a whine when he realises that Stiles is about to collapse, bounding over to him immediately, and Stiles pats him gently, not even caring about the blood that gets on his hand.

"You did real good, Der. Thanks for comin' to save me," Stiles says, voice and body feeling weak as he lowers his body down to sit on the grass.

The tree holding the warlock creaks ominously, and there's a soft laugh of triumph from the man himself. "You're too weak to keep this up! You'll never be able to hold me long enough, boy! I will escape and I will come after everyone you love! I will have your power, but first I will break you, and I will make you watch as everyone you've ever loved or cared about dies around you! I will - "

The man cuts off with a gurgle, Stiles letting out a growl of anger as he makes the tree literally pull the man apart, his organs falling out beneath him.

"Yeah? Try it now, fucker."

He laughs, exhausted and completely overwhelmed, and lies back on the grass because he can't physically hold himself up anymore.

"Shouldn't be exhausted in a dream, should I, Der?" Stiles asks, gasping for breath.

Derek whines, presses his nose up against him, licks at his neck, and Stiles closes his eyes even as he feels Derek curl up next to him. Stiles figures they did all right, saving the day even though no one will ever know, and if he dies now, at least he got to save his friends and family one last time.

...

End of sixth chapter.

Thanks for reading!


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Teen Wolf.

...

Stiles wakes up with a gasp, freezing to the bone, and sees Deaton standing over him with a concerned look on his face.

"Doc? What're you doing here?"

"Derek called me when you didn't wake up yesterday morning. You've been under the warlock's spell for quite some time, Mr. Stilinski. Do you remember anything?"

Stiles licks his lips, frowning as he tries to think. He sits up slowly, realises that Derek's waking up in the bathtub next to him, gasping and looking like a drowned rat, but they're both alive and awake, and even though they're freezing, Stiles can't think of a better thing to be right now. Derek grins at him, looking a little tired, and Deaton waits patiently for an answer.

"The warlock... He fought me and Derek in the preserve. My trees - I used them to literally pull him apart at the end."

"And the crows?" Deaton asks, a little sharply.

Stiles frowns. "How do you know about those?"

Deaton nods down to Stiles' arms and chest. The tree branches that cover his arms are littered with tens - maybe even hundreds - of cages, each one filled with birds. Stiles stands up, legs weak and shaking, and walks over to the bathroom mirror to look for himself. His fingers clutch the edge of the basin, knuckles almost white. There's a number of cages that are still open, the birds flying down into the cages and the door closing behind them. Some of the birds are actually disintegrating, reforming the branches and leaves that they'd broken only a day before. The birds are _his_ now, Stiles knows that just as surely as he knows that his leaves are part of his magic, and he grins a little.

In the reflection of the mirror, he sees Derek stand out of the bathtub and accept the towel that Deaton passes to him. His clothes are dripping wet, his hair plastered down to his face, and even as Stiles stares, he can see the multiple triskelions starting to fade, disappearing until they're needed again. Derek almost looks sad to see them go.

"The crows were the warlock's first line of attack. I caged them in the trees so they wouldn't hurt Derek after he practically tore the guy's arm off. Then the warlock brought out a lion, and once he'd healed his arm, I realised I had more control over the dream than I realised, and used the grass to immobilise his lion, and then the tree to hold him."

"He threatened to kill us all, to make you watch, and then he'd kill you for your power too. That's what made you snap and kill him, isn't it?" Derek asks curiously.

"Yeah, like I was going to let that bastard kill everyone. If I wouldn't let myself as the nogitsune kill everyone, I sure as fuck wasn't going to let some stranger do it!"

"That logic, Mr. Stilinski, is probably something you'll need to talk to a counsellor about. Have you heard from my sister lately?" Deaton asks, his tone somewhere between amused and worried.

Stiles doesn't really feel surprised or annoyed at the response; it's one he's had far too often lately, and he's starting to expect it rather than dread it. _Perhaps it's good, perhaps not, but if he's making jokes - even morbid ones like that - surely that's not an awful thing?_

"Haven't heard from Ms. Morrell in a while; you wouldn't happen to have her contact number, would you, Doc? I think I'd like to know where the good ol' counsellor's been for the last year."

Deaton raises an eyebrow and shakes his head. "I'll give you her details tomorrow. Get some rest - both of you - and when you're free, come see me at the clinic tomorrow. We'll talk in more detail about the attack."

"Oh, hey, Doc? What happened to the warlock? Did I really, y'know, kill him?"

"It is rare to come out of a magical attack unscathed. It is highly likely that you stripped him of his power; however, if the warlock is as old as I assume, then stripping him of his power would probably have stripped him of his ability to be alive at this age as well. Those that survive several centuries rarely do so through a good diet and exercise alone," Deaton adds with a slight smile.

Stiles lets out a sigh, though he's not sure if it's one of resignation or relief. The warlock is no longer going to be a threat, and his dad, his friends, his Derek, they'll all survive.

Deaton says goodbye and leaves without waiting for much of a response. Stiles is staring down at the bathroom sink when Derek crowds up behind him, and he starts in surprise when Derek places a large fluffy towel around his shoulders. Stiles looks up, eyes meeting Derek's in the mirror, and questions him silently. Derek just raises an eyebrow at him and starts to dry him off.

"You're shaking worse than one of your leaves, Stiles. You've got to get dry and change into warm clothes, or you'll freeze to death."

Stiles looks down again, this time at his arms, and is surprised to see that they're both covered in goosebumps.

"Wouldn't want that to happen; who'd tease me with dog jokes if you weren't here?" Derek adds with a slight grin.

Stiles snorts a laugh, but goes silent as Derek continues to dry him off, the werewolf even going so far as to put the towel over his head and dry Stiles' hair for him. A smile is tugging at Derek's mouth when he pulls the towel away and brushes Stiles' hair back.

"I'll get you some clothes. You get undressed, okay?" Derek says, leaving before he can answer.

His clothes aren't as wet as Derek's are, but there must have been some serious splashing going on because he's still fairly damp, and Stiles struggles to get out of his shirt, underwear, and pants. He's finally naked when Derek returns (he's changed his own clothes too, Stiles notes, seeing that his shirt isn't stuck to his body quite so much), and he's holding a large pair of sweatpants, as well as a shirt that's probably too big on _him_, let alone Stiles' smaller body. He doesn't even blush about being naked, too cold and still feeling a bit off from the warlock's attack to bother, and thanks Derek before taking the clothes and getting changed.

Derek waits patiently, doesn't even bother to leave the room while he's changing into his clothes, and as soon as he's laced up the sweatpants, he guides Stiles out of the bathroom and towards his bedroom. Stiles is under the blankets in under a minute flat, Derek joining him without a word. Derek smiles, brushes his damp hair back once more, then curls an arm around Stiles' body and holds him close. Stiles breathes a small sigh of relief, glad that Derek is warm, and snuggles closer to his chest.

"Thanks for coming to save me, Derek," Stiles murmurs.

"Anytime, Stiles," Derek answers softly.

It's not a declaration exactly, but Stiles thinks that there might be something more than either one will let on right now, as exhausted as they are.

_Maybe tomorrow will be better for declarations_, Stiles thinks to himself.

He smiles against Derek's chest, moving slightly so that his arm is wrapped around Derek's body and his hand is resting between his shoulder blades, right on his triskelion. He can feel a pulse of emotion from it, _safe, warm, protect, happy_, and Stiles thinks that maybe they're both starting to heal after all.

...

The end!

Thanks for reading the story!


End file.
